


too much to ask

by disorderedorder



Category: BlacKkKlansman (2018)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asian Character(s), Asian Reader, F/M, Period-Typical Racism (mentioned), Reader-Insert, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 15:22:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15709932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disorderedorder/pseuds/disorderedorder
Summary: Flip asks something of you that you never thought he'd have to.





	too much to ask

**Author's Note:**

> because I thought it was my time to contribute to this character in my own way...and because I was seeing a huge lack of Flip/Reader on this site...sad

Colorado winters were probably your least favorite thing about living in the state. Icy cold winds assaulted you each time you walked outside every day after September ended, the snow would have five foot deep drifts, sometimes even more, and you could remember multiple times where you had gotten snowed in and had to rely on neighbours for milk and bread and sugar. The hall closet in your old house was filled to the brim with knitted and woven blankets, as well as fleece and sherpa and faux fur-lined blankets that you made yourself. During the winter, your couch would be draped with no less than six or seven blankets, and piled high with colorful, soft throw pillows that made it comfortable enough to sleep on, and sometimes you did, just when your bed just didn’t feel right.

  
Flip’s house since you moved in was no different. You had piled his couch high with your blankets and pillows, thrown them all over your side of the bed, stuffed them in his hall closet. His closet, once filled with nothing but plaid flannel after plaid flannel, interspersed with a few sherpa-lined suede jackets, as well as one or two denim and leather ones, now housed your pretty things: your faux fur wraps, your silk dresses, your sparkly pants, your tight tops. In the dresser shoved against the back of the closet, the left drawers were filled with lacy things, silk teddies to sleep in, satin slips, cotton sets that Flip loved to run his hands all over. The top of the dresser even held your little tray of tinted sunglasses, from pink to clear to black, and a small jewelry box sat next to his bottle of beard oil. There were a few hooks that held your costume jewelry that hung behind the door, but all of your real jewelry was locked away in your little antique jewelry box.

   
The bathroom had a similar set up; one side of the large counter had a small tray with Flip’s things, while the other had a wide array of cosmetics and perfume spread haphazardly, the only neat thing being a little cup of cotton swabs. He often teased you about your lack of organization, though he was impressed with your ability to find what you needed despite the mess. Mornings, when he was home, often included him just watching you get ready after breakfast, deep brown eyes watching intently as you swept mascara over your lashes, gloss over your lips, a spray of perfume on your neck as you finished. Sometimes, he took candids of you while you got ready, and he kept every print stored in a portfolio in the bottom drawer of his nightstand.

   
When you had told your little circle of friends how the two of you met, they almost didn’t believe you because of how cliché it sounded. He’d been at the same bookstore as you had been to pick up a photography book on his day off, while you were there looking for books on classical art and sculptures, mostly anything Greek and Roman, when he’d knocked right into you as you were struggling to reach the top shelf. Flip had teased you a little about your height before getting your book down for you, striking up conversation about your interest in art and your job. You’d told him that you modeled for a sculpting class at the local college, and depending on the course, you sometimes did a bit of nude modeling, which he proceeded to tease you further about. It took you a bit by surprise, since usually you got a few odd looks when you talked about it, especially considering the area and the people who lived there.

   
While Colorado Springs was getting more and more diverse, what with the college close by and the amount of college students moving into the small neighborhoods with studio apartments, it was still as close-minded as the South, and the prejudice was prevalent wherever you went. It had taken a little bit of persistence to get your modeling job, and even your part-time position at the bookstore, but being a “model minority” had gotten you past a bit of the heavy criticism and discrimination you dealt with, though not in a way you particularly liked. Flip had taken you by surprise, with a lack of comments about your appearance or physical features that definitely weren’t common to the area, and his invitation to join him for coffee as soon as you paid for your books. Being around him made you feel safer, somehow, which was later explained when he told you he worked for the Colorado Springs Police Department.

   
If you were being completely honest, cops made you uncomfortable, especially when you saw them driving around town and when they were making loud, violent arrests, but Flip seemed different somehow; softer, kinder, more understanding. He’d told you his next day off and invited you to get dinner with him, which coincided perfectly with your half day at the college. Eagerly, you had accepted, and he had taken you to a quiet little restaurant, where you sat with him in a booth for hours, until the manager asked you both to go. After that, you’d walked the streets together until the hour strayed past one, and Flip took you home, leaving you with a kiss and a third date promise. You were all but head over heels, even if it was only the second date.

   
Six months was all it took before you and Flip moved in together, your boxes quickly taking up his house and your car crowding his in the driveway. His brown Nova and your light pink Cadillac made for an interesting pair, but he thought your car, like you, was adorable, and brought home a car cover one day after he got off work to protect yours. Flip, unlike most men you were familiar with, treated you as close to an equal as you had ever felt. It wasn’t to say you didn’t have your problems, of course, not only with little passing comments he sometimes made, to the radio stations he chose to listen to, and sometimes things he said directly to you. Most of it you tried to brush off as ignorance, but there had been some that you had to put your foot down about, since he kept doing it even after you asked him to stop. He was slowly learning, and as frustrating as it was to remind him sometimes, you had to allow him time to learn without too much blatant irritation from you.

   
The times you were happiest with Flip were undoubtedly when he would help you cook, even if he wasn’t amazing at it, and when you two were all cuddled up in his bed together in the dead of winter, wrapped in blankets and cozy in your pajamas. Of course, Flip’s job didn’t offer the luxury of consistent nor human hours, and sometimes, he came home at three in the morning, sliding in between the covers to warm you before taking off again at eight in the morning for work. You tried to be awake for when he left, especially if you were working, too, but the bookstore didn’t open till eleven, and the school didn’t require you to be there till noon when you did model for classes. But no matter what, Flip never left without kissing your forehead and promising cuddles for whenever he got home later. It didn’t matter if you weren’t totally awake when he left, it was knowing that he would be coming home later to spend time with you that mattered.

   
Sometimes, you wrapped up in the blanket made of his old flannels and a thick, warm swath of fleece lining the inside to wait for him, if you weren’t too tired, and sometimes, you’d see his Nova pull up as early as six to join you for dinner. Usually, he let you ramble on about your day while you two ate, and you didn’t mind for the most part, but there were always times when you wished he was allowed to talk about his day and what he was working on. Of course, you knew better, since the majority of his work was undercover detective work, but it did little to really stifle your curiosity. He was good at diverting the conversation back to your work, but you managed to get a little bit out of him, though it was more about how hard the case he was working on was. He did like talking about his fellow officers, Ron and Jimmy and sometimes Sergeant Trapp. You’d met all of them, albeit briefly when you would come into the station on off days to bring Flip some lunch.

   
Things were, by all means, practically perfect, until Flip had come home one night, looking more worn-down than usual, a manila envelope tucked under his arm and his movements almost robotic as he greeted you with a kiss and a ruffle of your hair. Dinner had been mostly quiet as he’d peppered your rambling with the occasional hum or nod, and it had taken a good while after dinner to get any sort of explanation out of him for his weird mood and the lack of conversation at dinner. He’d given you the condensed version: Ron had a plan to infiltrate the KKK undercover, he was going to be the one the Klan met in person, he’d be gone more at night, he’d be leaving earlier in the day, so on and so forth. It had shocked you into complete silence for the first time, not only at the danger he was putting himself in, but you, too. Being a “model minority” certainly didn’t excuse you from certain forms of racism or stereotyping, and definitely not the discrimination you dealt with when it came to what you could say and what you were allowed to do.

   
Seeing Flip less was hard enough by itself, especially when there were some days when you didn’t see him at all. You didn’t doubt he still kissed you when he came home, even if you were asleep, and sometimes when you woke up, the bed was still a little warm, but he wasn’t really _there._ Loneliness quickly settled over your little home, especially at night, and you started falling asleep on the couch and waking up in your bed more and more. You put Flip’s dinners in the fridge with plastic wrap, left out a bit of dessert for him, too, and sometimes little notes when you knew you wouldn’t be able to stay up too late. A few times, you considered calling his work line, even if you got his answering machine, but you just needed to hear his voice. A _“Colorado Springs Police Department, this is Detective Zimmerman, how can I help you”_ was better than silence, but every time you picked up the phone, you never ended up calling.

   
You had never doubted you loved Flip, and that he loved you, but knowing the case he was working on and what it required from him to make it work sometimes left you guessing, if you were being honest with yourself. Ignoring what you knew he had to say was easier said than done, and there were nights when you laid awake till two, three in the morning overthinking the surely hateful things he had to spew, trying to listen for the sounds of the Nova outside and getting silence. You considered trying to take longer hours at the bookstore, staying at the school for extra classes if needed, but you were always holding onto one little strand of hope that Flip would be home early just once, to sit and eat dinner with you and talk a little. Missing him came with heartache, a kind of heartache you’d never had before, not even over your first crush back in school.

   
Nearly a month after the investigation, you’d gotten your wish when you came home from the bookstore one day to see Flip’s Nova parked in its usual spot, the lights in the house on, and the smell of dinner wafting outside. Ecstatic was an understatement for your initial reaction, since you were finally able to see Flip all evening for the first time in what felt like forever, but after dinner proved your wishes weren’t without consequences. Over a pie and some coffee, Flip explained, between apologies, that there’d been a little slip up in the investigation that called for the Klan members to come over to your house for “a few beers.” He’d apologized nearly twenty times, but it wasn’t enough to keep you from breaking half the glasses in the cupboard and locking yourself into the bathroom as he’d explained through the door that you two would have to put your things into the attic, temporarily, and you would have to stay at one of the other officers’ homes for a day or so while the Klan came to the house.

   
The night you thought would have been filled with dinner, a little TV, and sex before bed was replaced with you and Flip packing your things in cardboard boxes labeled “pictures” and “antiques,” from your clothes to your makeup, even your books and papers. All of it went into the attic, hidden under tarps and old blankets, while you packed a bag to take to Jimmy’s house the following day, along with your favorite blanket, the one made of Flip’s flannels, and later that night, Flip drove your car over to Jimmy’s to hide in his garage. The lack of your things in the house was just as shocking as it was gut-wrenching; it was like you didn’t exist at all when they were all hidden away. Despite the fact that you knew Flip was genuinely trying to protect you, as well as himself, and the fact that it was only for one night, since, presumably, Flip had some sort of plan so it wouldn’t happen again, it was still hard to swallow.

   
He’d tried to make it up to you by being over-the-top affectionate when Jimmy dropped him off at the house later, but the mood wasn’t there and you were too upset to do more than curl up in bed beside him earlier than usual. You’d pretended to be asleep while he whispered to you, apologizing as he kissed your neck and shoulders, his arms wrapped around your waist while he rested his chin in the crook of your neck, his beard tickling your skin. It was hard not to roll over, nuzzle your head into his chest the way you always did, but each time you thought about doing it, you only shifted while you “slept” and tried to lull yourself into drowsiness, at the very least. By some twisted convenience, you had the next day off, leaving you free to simply hide out at Jimmy’s while Flip dealt with his...business.

   
Now, as you sit on Jimmy’s couch with a cup of tea, the sky outside has already turned pitch-black, the winter months approaching at a rapid pace. It’s been hours since Jimmy and his wife went to bed, telling you goodnight and telling you they were sure Flip would be over soon, and to just turn off the light and lock the front door when you left. They’d told you they wouldn’t mind if you left the TV on, but you had turned it off around midnight, even though you’d had it nearly silent. Your small pile of books is stacked on the coffee table as you make footnotes in the one in front of you, detailing a bit on the sculptures listed. On the wall, the clock has ticked past twelve-thirty, and as a car drives by outside, you climb up and peer out the window to see if it’s Flip’s Nova, but it’s going too fast and as it passes the house, you settle back down, readjusting on the couch to lay down.

   
The combination of a house that’s not your own, the lack of Flip, and your pent-up frustration has exhausted you beyond your limits, but you take another sip of tea as you pull a novel from your pile, one that’s been dog-eared and marked up since you got it, and rifle through the familiar pages. With one hand, you pull the blanket up over your shoulders, and with the other, you hold your book open as you settle into the well-loved pillows behind your head. The smell of vanilla room spray and tea, as well as the faint scents of dinner lull you into sleepiness, and you have just enough energy to lay your book down and tug the pull chain of the lamp on the side table to turn off the light before your eyes close.

   
It’s the cold that rouses you from sleep, followed by a gentle shaking at your shoulder. There’s faint voices, and the lamp is on again as you grumble, rubbing at your eyes. You can hear Flip and Jimmy talking quietly, and Jimmy’s wife is hovering over you, gently telling you that Flip’s here, he’s taking you home now. Groggily, you gather your belongings and shove them into your bag, slinging it over your shoulder as you attempt to keep the blanket wrapped around your shoulders. There’s a gentle tugging at your bag straps as Flip eases your bag off your shoulder, and as he takes it from you, he wraps an arm around you and pulls the blanket back up.  
  
  
“Tell her she’s welcome anytime, Flip,” Jimmy’s wife says, reaching out and rubbing your shoulder as you blink sleepily at her. “We’re happy to have her.”  
  
  
“I appreciate the offer, but hopefully, we won’t have to again. I told them we’d be gutting the kitchen here soon, made up an excuse about termites or something. But thanks again, I really can’t thank you guys enough.”    
  
  
Flip bends down to kiss your forehead, his firm grip secure even through the blanket as he pulls you closer. “Ready to go home, Babydoll?” he asks. You can manage a nod, but you reach up to rub at your blurry eyes again as he leads you outside into the cold air.  
  
  
His Nova sits in the driveway, lights still on, engine still running, and he helps you in the passengers’ side and puts your bag in the back, readjusting your blanket around you and buckling you in before he goes to get in himself. Before he backs out of the driveway, he reaches into the backseat, and you hear the rustling sound of plastic as he places something in your lap. A moment later, he places something flat and hard next to it, and slowly, he begins to back the car out of the driveway and onto the street. He says a few things that you manage to catch, about getting your car from Jimmy’s in the morning, as well as something about tarps and blackout curtains and scrap wood at the house that he’ll stage in the morning. You know he doesn’t expect a real answer from you about that, and Flip just rests a hand on your knee as he drives in silence to the house.

   
Luckily for the both of you, the drive from Jimmy’s house to yours is a short ten or so minutes, and before you know it, Flip is pulling into the driveway and shutting off the car, and then helping you out of the side as he carries your things for you. Inside, it’s nice and warm, and smells of pine and cinnamon, no doubt from a bit of room spray to get rid of the beer and cigarette smell from the Klan members earlier. You make it to the couch before you curl back up, drawing your legs under the blanket and kicking off your soft boots, pulling a few pillows under your head. Your back is to Flip as he rustles around in the kitchen, runs the water for a moment, and then returns to you, arranging something on the table before he pulls the blanket over your shoulders and back more.

   
“I’m going to bed, but you can come and join me if you want to, okay, Babydoll?” he says softly, with a gentle pet of your hair. When you don’t reply, you hear his footsteps from behind you, and the golden glow of the kitchen light disappears with a click.  
  
As soon as you hear the bedroom door shut, you roll over on the couch to stare at the clock on the wall. It’s almost three in the morning, much later than you thought initially, and you wonder if Flip has the day off later, or if he’s going to call out. Either way, you wonder how you’re going to talk to him about how you feel about him uprooting you from the house, or the little errand you ran the day before, before you shut yourself in the bathroom at Jimmy’s house and hid the little pink pregnancy test in your bag afterwards. It’s hard enough news for you, and you have no idea how he’ll respond to the two little lines on the display. On the table, you finally get a good look at what Flip brought you: a shiny red heart-shaped box and a bouquet of red roses in a vase. Something about it makes you tear up, and once your sniffles start, they’re hard to stop.

   
You force yourself to get up off the couch, at least to get a glass of water, before you consider joining Flip, and as you pad over to the kitchen, you notice three boxes of brand-new glasses and a box of new plates sitting on the counter, as well as a fresh lemony smell. Inside the fridge, there’s not a trace of the supposed beer, only a liter pitcher of tea and the milk you bought earlier in the week. You still opt for a glass of water to get the dryness out of your mouth as you lean against the counter, trying to decide whether or not to return to your couch or to go and find Flip. There’s no ignoring the loneliness of being alone in the living room, and you do miss your bed, and even more than that, sleeping beside Flip and being aware of it.  

   
In the end, you take your blanket and your bag to your room, dumping your bag by the door as you make your way over to your side of the bed. It’s only when you’ve gone to set your glass of water on your dresser that you notice all your little things have been moved back, in their exact places they were before. You run a hand across your little perfume bottles, your lipsticks, your hairpins, before you pad over to the bed and try to climb up, since it’s made for him, and not you. Something about your sleepy frustration and your anxiety makes you sniffle more, and louder, and it only takes a moment for Flip to wake up and hear your distress noises as you try to get up with your hands trying to hold your blanket in place and moving pillows. He shoves the comforter aside, pulls the sheets back before he sits up and reaches for you, pulling you up gently and settling you in with your things. Gently, he tucks you in with your blanket and the bed coverings, wrapping you up into a little cocoon as he waits for you to decide where you want to curl up for the night.

   
Ultimately, you end up snuggling right against him, face buried in his chest, hands curled into fists as you hold handfuls of his shirt, pulling him closer as you cry. Flip purrs, his arms holding you tightly as he murmurs to you, keeping you warm and safe as you shake. Gentle kisses are pressed to the top of your head as he pets your hair, tells you how much he loves you. Now, more than ever, do you realize how much you’ve missed being able to curl up in his arms, have him rock you to sleep while he lets you vent.  
  
  
 “Is that better, Babydoll?” he asks softly, when you finally let go of his shirt and he can hold your face in his hands. His fingers stroke your damp cheeks, wiping your tears away as he just lets you cry. You nod, pulling at him again as he lets you curl right up against his chest. It takes a long time before you stop crying, and even then, you’re letting out shaky little sighs as Flip peppers your face in kisses.

   
“I was too cold all alone,” you whimper. “And I missed you, I miss _my_ Flip.”  
  
  
“I know, Babydoll,” he murmurs. “I wish I was home more, I wish I could tell you how much I miss you every single day I’m gone, and I know it’s been hard on you.”  
  
  
“Just...I know we’ve always had...issues here and there, but it’s nothing we couldn’t work out, but you’re never here anymore, and...and it just doesn’t feel the same, and I hate feeling like sometimes you don’t love me like you used to,” you say between sniffles. It’s a hard thing to say, but once you say it, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.  
  
  
“I’m so sorry, Babydoll,” he replies, pulling you in for another kiss. “I haven’t been here to take care of you, or tell you how much I love you, but I do, I love you so, so much. And I do want to be with you, and I want to protect you, too, because I don’t know what will happen to you if we’re not careful, and I’m scared of you not being safe.”  
  
  
“I don’t want to be scared, anymore, Flip,” you say, simply, with a tug at his shirt, and he nuzzles you, presses another kiss to your forehead. “I...I want to leave Colorado, I want to get as far away from the Klan once this is all over.”  
  
  
The moment of silence that follows your words is deafening, and for a moment, you’re scared he won’t take it well, but Flip only runs his fingers through your hair and purrs more. “Where would you want to go, then, Babydoll?”  
  
  
“I don’t know,” you admit. “West. Oregon, California, I don’t know. But it’s not safe here, and I don’t want to stay.”  
  
  
“Then we don’t have to,” he says. “Once I deal with the end of this investigation, we can leave, and we can be safe.”

   
“I don’t want to leave the house again,” you add, sounding a little more frustrated and angry than you intended, and a bit out of nowhere. “It’s my house, too.”  
  
  
“You won’t have to,” he replies, as calm and collected as you aren’t. “As far as they know, we’re gutting the kitchen for the next month.”  
  
  
“And...they’re not going to come around and just...turn up unexpectedly, are they?” you ask, softer this time.  
  
  
“If they do, then you’ll find me scrubbing the porch clean of their brains.” Flip sounds deadly serious, and while you have no doubt he would shoot them the moment they turned up unexpectedly, the whiplash shocks you into silence.  
  
  
You’re quiet now, wondering how you’re going to tell Flip about the positive pregnancy test. It’s just as heavy news as you wanting to leave Colorado, and you have doubts about whether or not he’ll want to keep the baby the way you want to.  
  
  
“Flip...there’s something else.”  
  
  
“What is it, Babydoll?”  
  
  
You take a long, deep breath as you ready yourself for his reaction. “I took a pregnancy test yesterday at Jimmy’s house, and...it was positive. And it’s yours.”  
  
  
“Oh, Babydoll,” he purrs. “I’m going to be a dad?” His smile is clear, even in the darkness of the room, and you let out a relieved little laugh as he nuzzles you, kisses your nose, your cheeks, your lips.  
  
  
“Yeah, you are,” you laugh softly, and something about your news makes the tension in the room disappear, the problems of him not being home and you having to leave seem like problems of the past already.  


He kisses you, long, gentle kisses that make you melt, for what feels like forever, before he leans in and presses his forehead to yours as you stroke his cheek, brush your fingers over his beard. “I’m sorry, Babydoll,” he whispers. “I’m going to protect you and our little one, and as soon as this investigation is over, we’re going to get the hell out of Colorado Springs.”  
  
The last thing you recall before slipping back into sleep is Flip’s arms around you, his lips soft on your temple as he purrs promises loud enough for only you to hear, for your ears only.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on my [tumblr](http://clydelogan.tumblr.com/)


End file.
